


The Other Half

by thatoneeccedentesiast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1600s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Cell Phones, Child Death, Childhood, Children, Crushes, Crying, Death, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Fear, Friendship, Gay Parents, Gen, Growing Old, Love, Mother-Son Relationship, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Teen Pregnancy, Teenage Drama, Teenagers, Trouble, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wakes & Funerals, witch hunts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneeccedentesiast/pseuds/thatoneeccedentesiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and drabbles, maybe connected, maybe not, made through prompts from "The Muggle Studies Classroom" on the "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)" forum of FF.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate." -Thomas Jones

Two boys in the middle of a village market leaned in close, whisper and hissing in angry, unhappy tones before one - a monkey-eared boy - jumped the other child.

"Argh!" The young boy yelled as he pushed down his once-friend and beat him with his fists. "You liar! You  _traitor_!" He screamed at the other child as said child crouched down against the barrage of fists. Footsteps behind them, the monkey-eared boy hardly knew how close they were until a hand yanked him back.

He fought the grip for a moment; still wanting to hurt the liar, once-friend, but once he stopped upon being cuffed in the side of the head. A bit dizzy after, the boy had to concentrate on the face now hovering above him. It was his mum. Somewhere in his daze, her voice began to fill his ears;

"Salazar! You moron child! Who do you think you are to hurt master Buxton?!"

Scowling up at the dour woman, the child wrenched himself away to cross his arms in a sulk. "He  _lied_ to me! He said he didn't fancy Liannah but I saw him give her a flower crown earlier!"

The woman sighed and brought him close. "You get on so  _well_ though...mayhap it can be forgiven?" Salazar's mother partly pleaded with her son as she suggested it.

"No!" He yelled back loudly. "I will never be friends with a liar and traitor such as he!" The child declared with rage. "I shan't degrade myself by trusting him again!"

Seeing that there was no talking down her impassioned son, Salazar's mother took his hand and said to him; "If you so choose to hold grudges against once-friends instead of blessing them with forgiveness, remember this my dear child;  _friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate._ "

"What does that mean?" Salazar inquired, puzzled slightly by his mother's warning.

A sad sort of smile on her lips, she told her only son "It means if you are to leave a friendship, do not part badly; it will only lead to more trouble."

"I see," the child replied. His lips were pressed thin with sternity, but the way his pupils darted to and fro told Salazar's mother he did not in fact "see". So with a sigh, she hoped he'd remember her words and when the time came, he'd recall her warning and heed it.

xXxXxXx

By the time Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts - the school he helped build and loved - he'd forgotten his mother's warning and so his children, the ones he'd picked especially for his house, were left with enemies at every corner of Hogwarts due to no fault other than the failed friendship between Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor. And as another saying goes,  _the friend of my enemy is my enemy_ ; and all picked by Godric to be of Gryffindor were friend to Godric - same as those picked by Salazar to be of Slytherin were friend to Salazar.

And so started the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry (or rather, enmity).

 


	2. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a Muggle AU

"Harry, you know magic isn't real," his therapist reminded the teenager from his armchair across from him.

The young man ran a hand through his messy hair and looked to the wall of degrees behind Dr. Halford. He was a well-educated man. A worldly man. But..."I know," Harry sighed. "But sometimes I almost believe-"

Putting aside his notepad and leaning in close with his elbows on his knees, Halford looked over his glasses and said "This is why you aunt and uncle insist on you coming here. These notions are... _abnormal_."

Harry drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and clenched his jaw. No one understood. No one. "Is it really so odd to want to believe there's more to the world than what science proves? What about those paranormal searchers and Wicca believers? They think there's more to life and many of them lead successful lives."

Falling back in his chair, Dr. Halford studied Harry with hazel eyes. "Yet they are still condemned from all sides," reaching for his notebook again he asked "Do you want people to always stare at you? As they are now?"

The teenager bit his tongue and turned his head away. He didn't want to talk to Halford anymore. Seeing that Harry would say no more today, the aging man waved the young man away. "Our session's done in five minutes, if you want to leave now you can."

Harry got up and took his leave (and maybe closing the office door a bit louder than he should have).

Walking out past the secretary, he said "bye Sadie."

The petite woman smiled from behind her computer. "See you next week Harry!" And went back to tap, taping on her keyboard. It was a grating noise and Harry was glad he didn't have to stick around and listen to it today; his aunt Petunia had given him the car for the afternoon - so long as he remembered to pick up milk and carrots for her.

Rummaging in his pocket for the keys, Harry thought it would be quickest to stop at the pharmacy; but he knew they didn't sell fresh carrots like his aunt probably wanted. Getting into the little sedan, the teenager grumbled "Stupid grocery stores;" and started driving to his next destination. If he went to Aldi a town over, he wouldn't see anybody from school or around town - there'd be no gawking today.

("You need to start facing your anxieties Harry, even if it's just long enough to run an errand.")

* * *

Driving home, Harry gnawed on a candy bar as he drove. Typically, candy was enough of a distraction, but today his restless eyes skittered along the edges of the roads instead of in front of him. He slowed his car down at the sight of a girl, she was his age, slim and with a poof of brown curls that obscured her expression. She was obviously hitch-hiking though, so Harry felt curious enough to find out why.

Pulling up beside her, the young man notice for the first time that she was quite pretty. "Where are you going?" He asked her upon rolling his window down.

Smiling in an eager sort of way, she happily declared "Wherever you're going."

"Well, I'm going home," Harry explained.

The girl took a step back, smile slipping and doubtful light coming to her eyes. Blushing once he realized what he was saying, the teenager babbled his best apology. "Oh my - I don't mean - I'm sorry - look, I was just curious and have you eaten dinner yet? I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin, you see, and if you wanted you could get a free dinner."

Suspicious, the brunette studied him in a similar way to Dr. Halford (maybe if she had the chance, she could be a quack who fixes boys who believe in magic too). "I think I'll take you up on that offer," she told him.

Unlocking the passenger door, Harry replied "Hop in."

She scurried around and took the passenger side seat. "Thanks," she smiled. "So, what's your aunt making for dinner?"

"Roast beef again," the boy groaned. "It's the only reason she'd have me pick up these carrots." Pulling out the package from the bag from beside the girl's feet.

She giggled. "I'm Hermione, by the way," the girl imparted.

"Harry," he replied offering her one hand as he used the other to steer.

Shaking it, she murmured "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same."

They were quiet then. Harry wasn't going to push her to say more, he just liked sitting beside someone who didn't look at him like he was crazy for believing in magic.

* * *

"Aunt Petunia, I'm back!" Harry shouted as he walked in the front door with Hermione behind him.

The trim woman stepped out from the kitchen with oven-mitts on her hands. "Thank god! The water's boiling and your uncle will be home any minute!" Coming forward, she was about to take the grocery bag from Harry when she noticed Hermione.

"Who's this Harry?" She questioned.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Harry stuttered "um."

Taking over for him, the girl offered his aunt a hand and said. "I'm Harry's friend - we ran into each other at the market today."

"I thought I'd bring her back for dinner if that doesn't bother you aunt 'tuney..."

Gaping, the woman shook her head. "Oh no! No this is wonderful! You're uncle will be so happy to see your finally bringing friends home like a  _normal_ boy."

"Right..." Harry found himself blushing, glancing to see how Hermione was taking things.

She didn't seem to be listening at all, instead her eyes were on the hall table littered with pictures of Dudley and Harry. He wondered if her parents had kept a similar table - or if she'd never had one like it.

"Now why don't you two come into the kitchen and I'll get you something to drink?" Aunt Petunia offered.

Tapping Hermione's wrist, he made her jolt as he accepted for both of them. "That'd be great aunt Petunia."

xXxXxXx

"So how do you know Harry?" Dudley inquired as he took a bite of roast beef, "I don't think I've seen you in school."

Hermione hummed and put down her fork. "The library, we've run into each other a few times," she replied.

"I see." Harry's cousin accepted.

While things went on peacefully, Harry tried to still the thudding of his heart; he and Hermione should have planned for questions a little more. "Hey Hermione, d'you want me to give you a ride back to your place after dinner?"

The girl grinned. "That'd be nice, thank you."

"Remember not to stay out too late, Harry," uncle Vernon grunted as he looked over some paperwork he brought home.

Looking to his half-finished plate, the young man whispered "yes uncle."

* * *

Driving Hermione out of town, Harry asked "So did you runaway? Or...?"

"My parents kicked me out," Hermione replied. "I was all set for university next year, but then this Bulgarian exchange student came through and he was really romantic, you know? Like here I was just a silly little bookworm and know-it-all, but he thought I was pretty and smart; so asked me to the school dance. Suffice to say, things escalated quickly and my parents caught us in my bed together."

"Ouch," Harry mumbled.

Hermione shrugged in the darkness beside him. "It was fair, you could say, because as my mother so eloquently put it 'they didn't raise me to be a whore.'"

"Still, it's harsh. I might be crazy, but my aunt and uncle have not once discussed getting rid of me."

Hermione's head turned then. Her eyes becoming a reflective mirror for street lights. "Just where are your parents Harry? It's obvious you don't live with them."

"They died when I was a baby," the teenager told her. "My aunt says my dad was driving drunk and they crashed."

The girl frowned. "That's sad," she whispered.

"I don't remember them," Harry countered.

Tapping her fingers along to the song drifting out of the speakers, Hermione questioned "did you ever consider running away?"

"Tons of times," Harry answered.

Her eyes seemed to be all light as she breathed "Why don't you come with me?"

"I'm crazy," the young man answered. "You don't want me."

Hermione frowned. "Why are you crazy?"

"I believe in magic," Harry admitted with a thick voice.

The girl barked a laugh. "Oh Harry!" She exclaimed, "Harry do you want to know a secret?" Hermione giggled as she squeezed his arm.

He didn't think he did, but she was so  _close_ and..."What?" He sighed.

"I believe in magic," she declared. "I always have."

Harry studied her shadowed features then, wondering if Hermione was telling him the truth or simply making fun of him as every other child and teenager had throughout his life. With time, he saw that the girl meant it. Her gaze never wavered, expression never changed and her hold on him stayed steady. Smothering a smile, Harry looked back to the road.

"We have to ditch the car come morning."

Settling back in her seat, she put her feet up on the dashboard and closed her eyes. "That's fine by me."


	3. Fifty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football: A popular sport in America. Write about Beaubaxton's or Durmstrang. Alternately, write about Cho Chang.

Cho Chan's beauty had been her most admired trait as a girl and young woman. It was something that had always been so, from her earliest days as a tiny baby in a bassinet that family from all over cooed at to well past her days in Hogwarts when she went through her clubbing phase at which time she had taken to prowling London pubs and night clubs where a dozen or so men would happily buy her drinks or give her the dance she was looking for when she smiled at them. Sometimes, she even went home with the cute ones.

None of them would ever become something serious, but it had been exhilarating none the less.

In fact, her beauty was so highly prized by others that her earliest memory was of being dressed up like a little doll for her papa's business associates. Cho can recall being about three, her mama yanking a little pink gown with an itchy collar over her head and next tugging her hair up and putting a big bow in it. Then, she'd walked her out to the foyer where papa was waiting.

She'd been too little to know that this had been a ploy, so when her papa had smiled at her with the doting smile that meant lollypops and a rare kiss, she'd run straight to him crying at the top of her baby-lungs; "papa!"

Of course, the businessmen's heads all turned and when her papa scooped her up and put a kiss to her nose making her beam, they'd all smiled too.

"What a pretty little girl, Li," they'd said.

Proud, her father had bounced her. "Cho gets it from her grandmother."

The men had murmured several things in response and Cho would have squirmed to be put down then, but her mama had just taught her a new skill and she saw the businessmen as perfect practice.

Leaning forward in her papa's arms, she held out her tiny hand and said; "I'm Cho! It's nice to meet you misters."

All of them were fully bewitched then, it hadn't taken much work on her father's part to convince them to agree to exporting their goods for him to sell in his shop. After all, a man who had such a beautiful, polite little daughter must know  _something_ about running a lucrative business. No man without discipline could have such a masterful child.

That, of course, wasn't quite true. Cho had always been intelligent, taking in information at an admirable rate and so even if her beauty had been less, she would have still been uncommonly sharp.

However, none of that mattered any longer, her beauty was in slow decline now; her lips not so full, her hair duller and frame more plump than anything else these days. Cho's life was increasingly dependent on her wit and less so on her beauty.

It had been bad of her family to place such a fleeting thing in high regard, she realized now. It may have worked in the short term, but as her Ravenclaw heart proved, wit was her winning trait - not her physical attributes. If she had been a more shallow soul, she may have begun to mourn the loss of her lissome frame, smooth face and perky breast...

But she didn't. And that was thanks to the older man dozing in his book beside her. Her Terrence. Her husband. He had always loved her jokes more than her flawless face, her ability to listen and improve his class lectures for the University he worked at more than the thin body he'd claimed thirty years ago; and even more he loved that she had given him  _four_ highly intelligent, willful, creative sons and a daughter to take pride in over any of the silly little superficialities muggle and magical society alike said made a woman's worth.

He'd proven to her time and time again, that beauty - while nice - was not what mattered in the long run. If you could love and be loved for what rested behind your skin, life was infinitely better and easier.

Leaning over, Cho kissed her husband's hairy cheek.

Terrence blinked his eyes and looked at her. "What's that for, love?" He asked with curiosity.

"I love you," she replied simply.

Lifting his arm so Cho could scoot closer, he sighed at her familiar weight. "I love you too," he echoed.

She smiled her most beautiful smile and Terrence tried to recall what he'd done to win her adoration and love as Cho attempted to figure out how she'd ended up with such a faithful, thoughtful man.

Neither quite knew, but both were happy to let the mystery remain as long as the other didn't mind.

* * *

 


	4. May the Rolling Seas Keep you Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write about character death. But your character cannot have died in canon.

Sirius stared at the darkly-hued casket set on the coffee table of his family's parlor. Beside him, his mother wept silent tears and on his other side, his father breathed out deeply smelling of scotch. And if he so choose, Sirius could look back and see his little sisters sitting on either side of his aunt Misapinoa; clinging to her with red faces and large eyes.

Isla understood, Phineas wasn't in the coffin; he was somewhere lost in the sea and no matter how much she wished for her Irish twin to pop out of it and scream "I got you!" it wasn't going to happen. Elladora was barely more than a toddler and so did not understand. What she did know was that Phineas was gone and everyone was  _very_ sad about this. Part of Sirius wished it was he who was her age, then maybe it wouldn't sting him so badly.

Phineas had been  _his_ responsibility, after all. He should have watched him better when they were at the shore like his mother told him too. Phineas hadn't been to the ocean before and had only swum a couple times in the lake behind their home before they went to the ocean on Holiday last week. He didn't understand waves and riptides, he was too little to know how far was too far...

And yet, Sirius had ignored him in favor of trying to ride the crashing waves of Spain's southern shores. And so, when mother had been busy with Elladora on the seashore, and Isla with father getting ice cream for them all, Phineas had been swept out to sea and  _no one had known_.

They'd called for him for hours. Looked up and down the coast. Eventually, they called for Spain's magical officials who did their best, but at evening had come to them and shook their heads.

_"He's gone, the waves must have been too strong."_

Mother hadn't been able to stop herself from crying then, even father had let loose a broken, jagged noise and when Sirius had looked to Isla; he found her seeking an answer too. Parents weren't supposed to be the ones who cried over missing things. They were the ones who were supposed to  _find_ things.

But of course, as they would learn, no one could find a little boy lost to the sea's tides. No matter how inhumanly powerful they may seem to their childrens' eyes.

Sirius was waken from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. It was uncle Arcturus. His crisp blue eyes were full of sympathy as he gently tugged him up from his spot between his parents.

"Come along nephew, let us take a stroll."

He didn't fight his uncle, but he looked back to his mother.

Tears were still pouring from her puffy eyes, yet she knew exactly what Sirius was asking and nodded her head; permitting him to go.

So, together man and boy began to walk the house of Black.

It was after uncle Arcturus finally took him into the gardens that he felt he could tell the man what it was that he felt. "It's my fault," he told his uncle.

The man looked down on him, sad, but not shocked. "The sea wanted our Phineas, if it had not, he would be here with us. No matter what you may have done, none of it could have stopped the cruel tides from taking him. It was his time."

Sirius scowled. "No, uncle, mother  _said_ to watch him! I didn't! I was stupid and childish and ignored him to play in the waves when I  _knew_ he wasn't all that good at swimming!" And he began to cry then in earnest.

Uncle Arcturus picked him up then and hugged him close. "Oh Sirius..." he sighed. "Someday you'll understand, but this was  _not_ your fault. No one blames you. It was all one horrible,  _awful_ accident."

He just hid his face in his uncle's neck and didn't believe him.

It was his fault, it  _had_ to be. Serious, deliberate Phineas couldn't have died in such a stupid way; not his brother. He was too good to have died so meaninglessly.

 


	5. Grandmum?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write about Hermione Granger in exactly 978 words.

Door slamming closed behind her, Hermione dropped down on the back stoop and began to weep. She was forty-nine! Her own grandmum hadn't been this old when Hermione's mother announced her pregnancy to her parents! Oh how could Hugo? Didn't he know how much work babies were? He had to! He'd seen enough of them through the years and held enough to understand  _that_ much!

The door opened, but Hermione was struggling far too much as it was with her crushed aspiration for her son to care who it was. A body dropped down beside her and a long, spindly arm came around her shoulder and she realized it was Hugo. Her son. Her  _baby._

She lifted her face from her hands and looked into her son's sympathetic blue. Cracking a grin on his freckled-face, he commented "You know, when Lisa told me I started bawling too, mum."

Hermione was torn between shoving him and hugging him. He wasn't a little boy anymore and this wasn't something she could fix! But...this had to be hard for her little Hugo - even more so than it was for her. After all, _he_ was the one who was going to have a baby! Chin crinkled and twitching, she leaned her face into her son's shoulder and wished for Ron.

Her dear, dear, Ron. How she missed him! It had been so untimely...but what heart attack wasn't? She didn't know. It felt as if he'd been gone only a week instead of a year and a half...but then again, somedays it felt as if he'd been gone much longer than he'd actually been. Sobbing a little longer, she felt comforted by how grown-up her son was as he hugged her and whispered soothing words into her hair. After a little while, she pulled away and brought out a handkerchief from her pocket and to dab eyes.

"Is poor Lisa inside? I can't imagine what she must think of me..."

Hugo was quiet as he seemed to consider his words (he'd never done that before his father's death), "Rosie's got her." He admitted.

Hermione  _did_ shove him then. "You know how much your sister hates her! Thinks she's a vapid little twit! Oh I can't imagine that she's much comfort at all to poor Lisa..."

Rubbing the spot where her hands collided with his broadening chest, Hugo winced and shrugged. "Rosie wouldn't be much help to you either, you know. She'd just say that she'd been right and that you shouldn't have let me date Lisa to begin with..."

"I-" she opened her arms to him and let her son tuck in close. "Oh honey..." She rocked him as his own tears began to wet her cardigan.

Fists bunching in the loose fabric of her sweater, Hermione's son choked "I  _love_ her mum! Truly I do...she's so-so  _kind_ and she  _smiles_ at me like I'm the stars! She told me she would name the baby for dad, Ron if it's a boy or Ronda if it's a girl. I know we messed up, but if we love each other...it'll be okay, right?"

And the way he looked at her told Hermione what the answer was.

"Of course it will, love," she soothed as she pushed back his mess of brown curls. "And you make sure Lisa knows that too, okay? Every time things seem to be hard and don't feel like they're working...tell her  _that._  Tell her as long as you know you love each other, you can figure something out. You can and  _will_ find a way to make it happen."

Sniffling a bit, he wiped the rest of the tears from the corner of his eyes and stood up, offering Hermione a hand. "Shall we go back in, mum?"

"Of course Hugo," she agreed and she let her son take them back into the kitchen where Rosie and Lisa were actually  _talking_ like a couple of familiar friends instead of hissing and spitting as two tomcats in an alley might.

She smiled and swept past her son to take the hand of her grandbaby's mother. "Lisa," she said to the short girl.

Big eyes looking up at her, Hermione could almost imagine what Molly must have felt when Hermione and Ron told her they were having Rose. She was already falling in love with this girl for giving her the gift of family, but even more than that, she wanted her  _close_ and  _safe_ the same as she wanted her own children to be.

"Yes Mrs. Weasley?" She asked.

Hermione had to resist the urge to pet her hair as if she was one of her own children then. "I want you to know," she began, "that whatever happens, you and your baby will have a place in my home."

A relieved smile came to the girl's face and she turned over Hermione's hand so she was holding it instead. "I haven't told my mum and daddy yet...if it doesn't go -  _well,_ can I...?"

"You can share my room," Rosie offered quickly. And Hermione felt so  _proud_ of her daughter. How sweet and good she was to put personal views aside for her brother and her unborn nephew or niece!

Bringing all of the children close then, she hugged them hard enough for both her and Ron and promised them all  _no matter what, you'll all have love from me._

 


	6. And O'er You He Will Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a story and include the object to the left of you.

"Mother, why don't the owl's eyes blink?"

Finishing her family's laundry, Stacey Henderson found herself shrugging. "It's a muggle picture."

The little boy rolled from the end of the bed to where his mother was sorting clothes into three piles - his, hers, and baby Nick's (daddy didn't live with them anymore and mummy said he probably never would again).

Kicking his feet as he played with one of the still warm towels, he asked "Do all muggle pictures not blink?"

"That's right," Stacey agreed as she smiled at her son. "Muggle pictures don't move at all, in fact. They're  _static._ "

"Static? What's that mean mother?"

Ruffling her boy's hair as she moved past him to put her things in her drawers, Stacey said "It means unchanging. It will always be in that position, it will always have its eyes open and never  _ever_ will that change!"

Nodding his head, the boy frowned. "I don't like that. It's creepy to have it staring all the time!"

"Is it?" Stacey laughed as she came back to pick up her baby's booties. "I never thought of it that way."

Slipping off the bed, the boy wrapped his hands around his mother's waist and glared up at the picture. "Well, it is! If it's always staring you get to thinking it's quite cross and I don't want to have to be looking at a silly cross owl all the time!"

Extracting herself from her son, Stacey patted his head. "I'm very sorry Hector, but it's not coming down. It was a gift from a friend and I couldn't bare to put it away - no matter how cross you think it looks."

"Okay," the little boy grumbled. "But if I have a nightmare then you have to come and sleep in  _my_ bed!"

Rubbing Hector's back, the mother agreed. "Why not? Your bed is big enough for both of us and baby Nick!"

Laughing at that, the child gave his mum's skirt a tug and said "Let me help with the laundry!"

She handed down her son's pants and knickers. "Go put those away, wont you?"

"Yeah!" And he dashed off, little feet thumping and his dresser drawers clattering as he opened them.

Continuing with the laundry, Stacey looked up at the dignified owl placed in front of a simple purple hue. "You aren't cross are you Archie?"

The picture gave no answer, but she expected none as it was an animal and muggle.

"You're watching over us is all! Making sure we all stay safe!" She chortled. Climbing up onto her bed, Stacey reached up and touched the owl's beak with her finger tips. "Thank you my dear Archie. You're watching is much appreciate by me."

And even though he was just a simple muggle painting, Stacey liked to think that the owl's eyes softened just a bit.


	7. Moblie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Phones

In a vaulted room decorated in deep brown and a sunny tan-like color, three men and a girl sat grouped together - two of the men and the girl on the couch and the last one in an armchair across from them - sipping at mugs of tea as they discussed something in firm and quiet tones until-

"What was that?"

Neville rubbed his stubbly cheek and looked into the clear-complexioned face of the preteen girl. "Electronics don't work in our world."

"I'm not leaving my moblie!" The girl scowled. "Like, how will I know who's going out with who? Or if Macy's football team is in the district finals? What if something really, really cool happens and I need to let my friends here know! How could I possibly make them wait all day when I could just tweet it?"

"Then you can't be a witch, miss," Neville explained in his patient, I'm-counting-to-ten-and-if-that-doesn't-work-I'm-going-to-break-something voice.

Her glitter-glossed mouth dropped open in dismay as she turned to the two men on either side of her. "Daddy! Pa! Tell him I should get to take my phone!" She begged.

One of the men, a willowy, smiling fellow patted his daughter's knee. "Come on Shannon, me and your daddy kept in touch just fine with our friends without twitter and facebook when we were going to boarding school as boys."

She threw herself back against the tan leather of her family's couch with a scowl and crossing of her skinny, pre-teen arms. "Pa, no one uses facebook anymore."

Chuckling the man called pa kissed his daughter's head. "Sorry love, pa's not so good at remembering what all is popular with you kids."

Seeing that the girl was being tended to by one of the men, Neville looked to the other. A similarly tall, but much more sharp-looking guy was wearing a face that said he was just as unimpressed as his daughter.

"Letters can be slow, you know," he commented in an accusing sort of way.

Neville gave a sage nod and put down the mug of tea he'd been nursing on the glass table at his knee. "I understand your worries Mr. Hatfield, but I promise she'll be perfectly safe and supervised."

"Are you a father Mr. Longbottom?" Mr. Hatfield demanded.

The professor sighed and wondered how he'd gotten roped into visiting the muggle students this year. "Not yet, I'm afraid," he answered. "My wife and I are still debating if children is something we want for ourselves."

Leaning in with a grin not quite friendly, the way the man was gazing at Neville reminded him of a shark cornering in on its prey. "Then you don't understand how much children mean to their parents-"

Neville rarely liked to break out his sob story, but this fellow was getting on his nerves and after visiting two other muggle families with children equally attached to electronics he wasn't willing to play the game the right way any longer.

"I do, actually. My parents were tortured into insanity because they weren't willing to tell a couple of madmen where they'd stashed me."

That caused Mr. Hatfield to fall back beside his pouting daughter with a look of shock on his face. A nervous tilt coming to his eyebrows, the other man, "pa" apologized for his husband and daughter.

"I'm sorry Mr. Longbottom, their rather bullheaded."

He waved it off. "No worries, I've dealt with worse." Putting on his best smile then, he looked to the girl. "Now Shannon, do you want to come to Hogwarts and learn magic? Or do you want to stay here and not reach your full potential?"

Shannon twisted around and asked her fathers "If I don't go, will I be a bum?"

"NO!" Were fathers' cries.

Neville, of course, agreed. But sometimes the stubborn ones needed to feel a bit of fear to make the right decision.

Not looking the least bit satisfied with her daddy and pa's answer, she returned her gaze to Neville and declared "I'm going to Hogwarts."

"Beautiful choice," the professor praised. "What about that moblie of yours?"

She took it from her lap and put it on the table. "I don't need it," she replied.

Taking out his wand, Neville smirked and transformed it into turtle.

Shannon gaped, as did her fathers.

"Excellent," the professor smiled. "Now why don't we get down to business and discuss more in depth what she will need to become an exceptional witch?"


	8. Dark Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candor - write a story with no dialogue

In a room almost opulent with its green walls and fine Persian carpet and paintings lining the walls, Brutus wrote with a fever-like compulsion at his writing desk. Wizards, witches and even non-wizards and non-witches were dying left and right as the world around them went about hunting for nonconformists and people just a crooked smile too strange. Dipping his quill in black ink, Brutus's fingers moved easily over his work as he wrote his newest article for  _Warlock at War._

It was simple enough for the common man to follow, he knew. In fact, he'd made sure it would be - the main message being only idiots and nigh squibs associated with non-magical folk. A keen wizard knew not to put himself and his fellow man at risk by letting idiot muggles near enough to get a whiff of their other-worldly skills. Once they smelled it, they're aptitude for picking one out of a crowd only increased ten-fold after all! And no one wanted that. No one wanted to be the wizard or witch who brings plague-like death to their family and friends and  _their_  family and friends.

Blowing dirty-blond locks from his face with the anger of a man under siege, Brutus wondered if this would be worth it in the end. Would witches and wizards finally realize they had no place in this world? That these non-magical folk were a danger to not only their own souls but to all those unborn? He thought of his wife in the next room with their youngest, Ambrosina, at her breast and their oldest, Louis, learning his grammars by the light of the fire just a quarter meter from her.

They were the lights of his life. His wife's accent - how even after seven and a half years away from France she still could not make the 'h' sound he and his son could use without a thought, his son's fleet-feet; he knew no other boy who danced so gracefully without a partner. And then there was his little Ambrosina...her curls were a wonderful thing and to pluck at them made one envious of the beauty she would undoubtedly grow up to have.

If his fellow wizards and witches continued to trust lesser creatures, they would all be dead in half a century - maybe three quarters if they scattered across England and beyond. Looking over his work, Brutus revised a sentence:

_Nothing is a surer sign of weak magic than a weakness for non-magical company._

Yes. Let the idiots be enraged. Let the enlightened feel assured of their intelligence and let the rest be awakened. Brutus didn't know if he was wholly right, but he did know that these days, only those weak of mind felt secure enough to be in the company of their muggle neighbors. Too many witches and wizards were dying by muggle hand and Brutus couldn't watch it any longer.

Not after the last one. A girl, thirteen or fourteen, with a braid that ran just past her knees, had it shorn from her head to use as a noose in her execution. They'd said she was a witch casting curses on the livestock. She had been a muggle girl without a father or mother or family who wanted her and nothing else. She'd been a sympathetic girl and only gone to livestock already sick to care for them in their final days.

She was not one of his kind, but still she was killed for something she had not done and could not control.

Brutus would not sit aside any longer and let young girls and others die at the hands of the ignorance of their muggle counterparts any longer...looking how to finalize his article, Brutus wrote:

_And this is why we should cut ourselves away from the muggles and set up farms and villages of our own where we may live in peace and where our children and their children may run free without fear of making a mistake and calling the attention of zealous muggles who would and will put them under the sharp blade of a guillotine..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think with a kudo/comment!


End file.
